4 comments:

They'll still bless the bombers won't they, the churches, drizzle them with holy water, before take-off. They'll still go a-chaplaining and a-padreing, rubberstamping for God the expiring martial soul. Christ, how I hate those fucking bastards, their simpering earnestness, their poncing on grief and their child molesting but even worse than the noncing is the utterly nauseating manouvreing which you report, their feigned uberGoodness; fuck me, they're worse than Monty Don, clergypersons.

I am not, mrs woar, a collectivist, I care nothing for people going off and being quiet and worthy together. What needs to happen is that good men hang from lamp posts a few bishops, admirals, bankers and other criminals; a few royals, for good measure; hang the first of them that even suggests invading anywhere. And may their Lord have mercy on their black, thieving souls, warmongering bastards.

You know how one of my bugbears is Orwell's essay on the colonisation and devaluation of language by Power, you may have read it, written in the 'forties. Well, they've done it with Remembrance, transforming it into Approval, into Unquestioning Shithead Patriotism, into Adoration of the Three UnWise Men of LibLabCon's shabby carnival. Their use of the word Remembrance is far more sophisticated, more manipulative than ours. We should find another word, one which they do not own. Let's call it Disgusted Sunday, or Hatred Sunday or Hang 'em High Sunday.

I think the process may have started, though. Yesterday's address by the padre was full of rage which made him nearly incomprehensible. I did not take a very charitable view of being raved at but on reflection I think there was more going on than I credited. It was like listening to only half a conversation. What ever he was saying, it was nearly off-message.